C.w. Mccall - Ratchetjaw Lyrics
(c.w. mccall, bill fries, chip davis)Yee-haw! merciful sakes alive! you wanna be one a them cbers, you gonna learn how to ratchetjaw! pay attention now; Im only gonna explain it to ya once.You gotta go runnin amuck in a pick-em-up truckWith one a those fancy sidebands?Get four-on-the-floor and two on the doorGet a power mike in yer jaw-handPrepare to strike when ya key the mikecause ya never know whos a-listeninSome clown insists on a 10-36This heres what you give im:Four, good buddy, I made me a studyAn I figger its the dark a the moon, sonIts half-past spring an a quarter ta fallAn the big hands a-settin on noon, sonNow if the fish dont bite and the almanacs rightAnd the groundhog sees his shadowA 10-36 goes tick-tock-tick.And thats what I call ratchetjaw!Gotta git ya a base, out there at yer placeWith a forty-foot pole on the chimneyWith a thousand watts in yer flowerpotsAnd a ree-mote line in the biffyIf ya feel a twitch when ya throw the switchYa gonna dim all the lights in wichitaGonna send out a wave ta make the government raveAnd this heres whatcha tell em all:Yeah, four, good buddy, yer comin in cruddyBut yer walkin right through my wall, boyYer carriers cool, you makin me droolYou were definitely battin my ball, boyYou hittin me round about fifteen poundYou cut me up like a bandsawBut what the heck, its just a radio check.And that theres how to ratchetjaw[cb conversations. theyre overlaid, as if youre listening to a party line.][womans voice] breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker. we lookin for that one buffalo roy out there. buffalo roy, whats your twenty? where are you anyway, buffalo roy? are you out there? come onEre, buffalo roy. 10-4.[mans voice] lissen, you. shut up on all them breakers. one breakers enough. [words missing]...channel all the time. cant hear a damn thing anybodys sayin.[c.w.] buffalo roy? thats a dumb handle.Wanna feel some pain? just turn up yer gainGet a fearful earful a garbageTa suppress a belch, just hit yer squelchYou can cut out all the carnageYou wanna have fun, you son-of-a-gunsJust get on the press-ta-talk switchYou gonna amuse em an really confuse emWith a little ol thing called ratchetjawYeah, let them suckers think yer a truckerSay stuff they cant understand, sonJust bounce up-an-down while yer toolin aroundGonna sound like a truck-drivin man, sonJust tell yer beaver that you gonna leave erYou catch her on the bounce-aroundIf she comes back with a smart-off crackSay x-y-l, its show-an-tell. we definitely got us to go now.Keep yer pants on honey, hang onto the moneyYer x-y-ms gotta blow nowEighty-eight, thirds, and feed my birdAn all them numbers upon ya allIf speed dont kill, then cb will.And thats what I call ratchetjaw[more cb conversations.]Breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, [repeated almost ad infinitum, punctuated by bouts of laughter][mans voice. begins deep, slowly rising to shirley and squirrely squeakiness.] yeah, 10-4, we got ya, breaker. come back on that? say, what kind a... snot? some kind a cotton-pickin... youN me on, arent cha? yeah, you puttin me on, arent cha? [laughter] 10-4. 10-4.
